of the first time he’d seen his father’s phoenix, how small he’d felt before the great Maximian, awed—and of course, terrified—by the crackle and hiss of the fire that burned beneath his brilliant feathers. Admiration had filled his heart at the thought that his own father rode into the sky on such a breathtaking beast. From that day forward, all Tristan had wanted was to be a Rider.
He’d asked constantly, but the commander had never indulged Tristan with personal stories or sentimentality. For his father, being a Rider was just another duty, like running the Eyrie and reclaiming what their family had lost since the war.
Their exile often made Tristan ashamed—but not for their loss of position and wealth. He was ashamed because of his father. Cassian had denied their cause and offered up information, forsaking those who had fought and died in the war, just for a chance to keep his beloved governor position. He’d been willing to side with the very people who’d tried to wipe out the Riders.
The people who had killed Tristan’s mother.
Tristan could barely remember her and had only his father’s words—and the odd fragmented memory of braided hair and fierce laughter—to keep her alive. When he was young, people told him he had her spirit. Now Tristan feared he was becoming increasingly like his father, cold and calculating and more focused on personal pride than on doing what was good and right for their people.
But at times like this, when he forgot about his ambitions and his constant need for his father’s approval, Tristan felt closer to his mother, and that was a good feeling.
They climbed the wide steps that led to the archway, which was cut through a jagged spur of mountain rock and chiseled into the shape of the animals sacred to the gods. Beasts slithered and crawled and snarled overtop one another, including Teyke’s cat and Mori’s owl, while Azurec’s spread-winged phoenix crowned the entrance at its apex.
They passed through, and the Eyrie lay before them.
It was carved into the heart of the mountain like a great, stony bowl. It reminded Tristan of an amphitheater, with a flat space far below and tiers rising wider and wider from the bottom up. The levels acted as walkways and roosts for the phoenixes, while at the very bottom of the pit, a stone courtyard was ringed by an arched gallery. Rough, uncut peaks of stone surrounded the bowl like cupped hands, hiding it from view of the mountain below.
Directly in front of them was a jutting spear of stone, like a plinth or a platform, which thrust into the open air of the Eyrie. Though the top was smooth and flat for walking, the rock supports underneath were carved in the shape of another massive phoenix. The path stretched across its back, while its head capped the end of the plinth and its wings spread wide to reconnect with the walls on either side.
Tristan gave Nyk some time to take it all in before pointing out the basic function of the space. “See those doorways along each ledge? Those are where the Master Riders live. When we moved in, they spent months scouring the tunnels, searching for lost eggs.”
“Did they find any?” Nyk asked.
Tristan nodded. “A few. It’s where most of the apprentices got their mounts. One or two had an egg from their families, and three Riders still had their mounts from before the war. The commander, Beryk, and one of the instructors and leader of the second patrol, Fallon. He was only a child during the fighting.”
“Was that where you found Rex?” Nyk asked.
Tristan shook his head. “I inherited my egg from my mother’s side. He’d been passed down for years, waiting for me.”
Tristan had never been more anxious for anything in his life than when he’d incubated his generations-old phoenix egg. What would happen if things went wrong and he wasted this most precious of family heirlooms?
But all the worry had been for nothing. Rex had deemed him a worthy bondmate, and Tristan was proud to ride such a beautiful creature—fire and all.
As they looked on, Rex made himself comfortable on a nearby ledge, his feathers sending up sparks as he shifted into position. All around, other phoenixes settled in for the night, roosting in small clusters.
Only the top two levels of the Eyrie were in use, but Tristan liked to imagine what it might have been like a few hundred years ago, when every cavern was occupied and flaming